The Further Adventures Of House and Wilson
by turtur6
Summary: Chapter One of the infinite DW crossover. Please don't hurt me. Rated JIC.
1. Part One: Welcome to Jersey

**A/N: Hopefully, this fic will go on FOREVER. It totally can, and you know it.**

**Warnings: Insanity, slash, crossover, utter lack of any timeline whatsoever, except for the obvious.**

**Disclaimer: Unless otherwise specified, NOTHING BELONGS TO ME.**

**Chapter One:**

**Ten meets the Blancmanges**

**In this episode we cross: Doctor Who, House MD, and Monty Python.**

It was a bright, sunny day in New Jersey, and the Doctor was doing something that was probably going to save the world, or the universe, or the ice planet Hoth, or something. It was Ten, in case you were wondering- the one with the hair that poufs up in the front, the snazzy suit, and the classy trench coat. He was wearing his glasses too, but they kept sliding down his nose and he would have to put down the pile of papers he was carrying to fix them every couple of minutes. It wasn't like he couldn't have tightened them with the almighty Sonic Screwdriver, but he was rather in a hurry. Whatever choice female he was supposed to have with him had died rather suddenly in a tragic ballooning accident a little while ago. He had cried inconsolably for about a week, but then duty had sent its resonant call his way, and he had soon forgotten good old what's-her-name among the millions of others. The only problem with this was, he was now in need of a Companion. These papers were ridiculously difficult to carry around whilst looking Doctor-y, and if the Doctor couldn't look Doctor-y, then God knew what would happen to the Time Vortex. Or something.

Anyway, he had come to Earth to go find someone to replace his previous girl, preferably someone who wasn't blonde- not for any particular reason, it just seemed rather repetitive is all- and had immediately gotten involved in some attempt or other to foil the plans of an Evil that threatened to take over the world. This foiling, apparently, involved much paperwork. The Doctor was beginning to think that it always had, and the Companions had always just kept it from him so the glamour of universe-saving didn't wear off. It was a rather discouraging thought.

Lost in thought as he was, the Doctor stepped off the curb and was nearly run over by a passing vehicle.

"Oh my _God_!"

The voice came from his left, and the Doctor spun to meet it, putting on his best "I'm the Doctor, _betches_" face. It involved a lot of eyebrow work. "Yes? What do you want?"

The owner of the voice who had just recently taken the Lord's name in vain opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't seem to get the words out upon seeing the Doctor's mind-boggling face. "I- I- um…" The Doctor took the time that the other man was using to try and articulate himself to study his features. He looked harmless, with thick hair that parted on the left side of his face, and a slightly receding hairline. His face was oval shaped and handsome, with an expressive, lopsided mouth and thick eyebrows. "Are you- are you okay?"

He had a modern American accent. Ten adapted his dialect to match. "Yeah, I'm fine. No worries… dude."

The man turned his head slightly and gave the Doctor an analyzing glance. "Right…" Ten turned to leave, but the man put out a hand and grabbed the sleeve of his trench in a forward manner. "You've- you've got a lot of papers there. Can I help?"

The Doctor stared at him, not bothering to hide his incredulous expression. "Whaaaat?!"

"Help you carry them!" the man explained, going slightly red and putting his hands up in an instinctual display of harmlessness. Humans were _so_ evolutionary. "You don't seem to be able to handle them very well- I- I- mean, I could take some and then you could…"

"Sure, thanks." The Doctor dumped the pile of papers into his new acquaintance's arms and started walking swiftly in the direction of a certain bakery, thoughts returning to his case. Innocent people were being turned into Scotsmen when they ate these certain blancmanges. Scotsmen! It was terrible. He was pretty sure he knew what was going on, though. A plan was nearly solidified in his mind when he was interrupted by that man again.

"Uh, my name's Wilson, by the way. James Wilson."

Ten raised his eyebrows in that particular way that he had. "Riiiight. I'm the Doctor." He turned back around and started walking again.

"The Doctor? Doctor what? Because I work at Princeton Plains-"

Ten sped up. He did _not_ want to talk to some stupid human right now.

~?~

Gregory House leaned on his cane with an exhalation of impatience. He had been waiting by the bus stop for Wilson to get back to PPTH from his little lunch excursion for at least half an hour now, and was getting pretty peeved. He may have been blessed with an intellect and wit greater than most, but patience was something he decidedly lacked. It was, in his opinion, one of his best qualities.

"Wilson?" he shouted again, and again got at least thirteen Looks from passers-by, all of which he responded to with a bright and chirpy dirty-old-man grin. "Wilson, I'm waaaaaiting! Come on, Wilson!" He banged his cane on the ground, making a few people go from Looks to Glares. "Why are you making me wait? I'm in pain here!" This wasn't actually a lie. The old thigh wound was flaring up again. Not three hours earlier had he remarked to Chase that it was definitely going to rain that day, despite the sunny weather, because he could 'feel it in my leg'. Chase had just banged his newly-shorn head against the wall about fourteen times. Maybe fifteen, but who's counting? House tried again. "Wilson! Are you here?" Why, oh why, had he forgotten his cell phone... because he had thrown it at Cuddy, of course. The game (which he had made up himself) awarded five points for making her jump, twenty for actually hitting her, and a hundred points for landing it in the Cleavage. Anyway, back to the task at hand. House rolled his shoulders back and let out a particularly loud "WILSOOOON!"

"He's not there, honey." A woman in a pink tracksuit who looked about seventy eight but still spry gave him a sympathetic look. "You might want to try wherever he works." Leaning in closer, she whispered: "Just take him out for a nice dinner and apologize, he'll come around. Might do a little more than that, even, if you're lucky…" She winked and started off down the road.

House was actually a little surprised. The jogger bint had thought he and Wilson were dating? Why did that tend to happen so much? She hadn't even _seen_ Wilson yet! _House_ didn't look gay, did he? Surely not!

~?~

"So these blancmanges are being made in a factory…" mused the Doctor, scratching his chin absentmindedly, "And the company producing them is called Skyron Enterprises. I think I know what's-"

"What's this?" James held up the all-important Sonic Screwdriver and shook it a couple times, brow furrowed as he tried to figure out how it worked.

Ten jumped in his chair and shook his head vigorously, holding out a hand to stop Wilson's virgin exploration into the technology of Gallifrey. "No- no- no- don't touch that- James- no- stop- bad idea- not good- no- stop-"

James ignored him. "It looks cool, but it doesn't seem to- hey, what's this do?"

He did Something, and the box of baked goods he had reflexively bought for House, situated on top of the stack of papers he had placed on the rickety ironwrought bakery table, exploded.

**End Part One of Chapter One!**


	2. Part Two: Introducing the Dramatic

**A/N: *makes face* Daiquiri got in here somehow. For those who don't know, don't worry. Technically, Daniel and Jacqui are OCs. Except that one isn't mine. (SORRY ALEX. I STOLE REMM.) Also, this seems to be my laziest story. ^^**

**Warnings: Insanity, slash, crossover, utter lack of any timeline whatsoever, except for the obvious.**

**Disclaimer: Unless otherwise specified, NOTHING BELONGS TO ME.**

**Chapter One:**

**Ten meets the Blancmanges**

**In this episode we cross: Doctor Who, House MD, Monty Python, AND NOW INTRODUCING Remmington Center**

**Part Two**

Jacques duPan straightened Daniel Remmington's tie, the other man squirming within the constricting, rather garishly blue, garment. Despite the amount of ties he had worn in his lifetime, he still didn't know how to tie one and, when left to fend for himself, usually just wore clip-ons. Plus, though he would never admit it in a million years, he enjoyed making Jacques tie his ties for him.

"Stop it, it's too tight," he whined.

"Don't be stupid," Jacques rebuked affectionately, tugging on the tie. He had a face right out of the Hitler Youth, but his hair was shaggy and well conditioned, and his left ear was pierced twice in the cartilage. He made a strange contrast to Daniel's unkempt brown straggles and the beard that just screamed "unproductive". Jacques continued, "It looks just right. You almost look professional." He smiled and kissed Daniel's unshaven cheek cheekily. "Good luck out there today, _mon cher_."

Daniel frowned and blushed just slightly, pulling away. "You're such a girl, geez."

Jacques just smiled. He would save _that_ remark for later.

"Anyway, I've already been hired. What is there to have luck for?" Daniel asked in a voice seeped with arrogance, waving away Jacques' hands which had just tried to sneak a comb through his hair.

Jacques shook his head at the older man's naïveté. "Just… be careful."

Daniel sneered half-heartedly. "Gott- God, Jacques, careful about _what_?"

Rolling his eyes, Jacques handed his boyfriend his jacket and pushed him out the door of their apartment.

_Same old situation._

~?~

House was walking along, unable to resist the urge to find Wilson. He would never say it out loud, of course, but he was worried about his best friend. He had always had this apprehensive feeling that one day Wilson would just… leave, and for someone as closet-codependent as House was, that was a terrible thing to think about while trying to go to sleep at night. Not that he thought about Wilson when he was trying to sleep. What?

He was passing a small local bakery when he saw something out of the corner of his eye that made him stop in his tracks. There was Wilson… but he was sitting a table with a strange man. Wilson was holding something House couldn't see and saying something he couldn't hear, but the expression on his friend's face was one of total amazement. House hadn't seen him so enthralled by anything since, well… perhaps better not to mention that. The man he was with was dressed in a blue pinstriped suit, with a brown trench coat slung over the back of his chair. He was pacing restlessly, looking like he was completely ignoring his enthusiastic companion. House seethed at him through the window. Who ignored Wilson? Nobody! Only he, Gregory House, could ignore Wilson! It was his right! No one else's!

He limped angrily to the door and was just jerking it open when the pink cardboard box on the table Wilson was sitting at exploded.

~?~

Every single person in the bakery turned to stare at the man in the brown sport coat and an _almost_-matching tie, liberally covered with icing and crumbs, who had just yelled out the loudest blaspheme any of the local denizens had ever heard in their uneventful, suburban New Jersey lives.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration.

Wilson stared at his ruined jacket in complete shock. The Doctor stared at the smoking pastry box in utter wonder. There was a pregnant pause, and then the man leaning on his cane in the doorway burst into hysterical laughter.

"Oh my God, Wilson. That was amazing. Nice job." He strode unevenly to his friend's side, swiped his finger across the lapel of the devastated garment adorning his shoulders, and stuck the finger in his mouth, sucking the frosting off. Wilson's facial expression made a slight change, now looking slightly annoyed rather than utterly stricken. "Chocolate éclairs? Was this for me, by any chance?" House grinned vindictively. "Well I think you'd better buy me some more, because these ones have been… creamed."

"That's… that's a terrible joke." Wilson said in a shaky voice.

House put one finger up triumphantly. "But it got you to snap out of it." Without any segue, he asked "Who's he?" and jerked his head in the mysterious stranger's direction.

"Um, his name is Doctor… Doctor, um…" Wilson fumbled for the name without result.

"You don't even know his name." House shook his head, putting on a distressed expression. "You really are desperate."

Wilson started, shaking his head frantically. "N-no! He just called himself the Doctor! That's it!"

House stared to verbalize his comeback, but suddenly stopped, mouth slowly falling open. "Oh my _God_. Wilson!"

The other doctor squinted at his friend in confusion. "What? What?"

"You- you're- he's-"

"House?"

House appeared to be losing his bantering abilities. He started emitting little noises of shock and muttering "I should have _known_, how could I have _missed_ it?"

Wilson squinted at his old friend, wondering what was wrong with him. "Seriously. Are the desecrated remains of your éclairs in the shape of Jesus' face or what? Because I didn't know you were quite that devout."

Before House could answer, the Doctor cut in. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, in a tone that suggested a complete lack of any sort of sorry, "but the fate of the world is at stake." That seemed to do the trick, for both men stopped staring at each other and turned to look at him instead. He sighed, feeling more annoyed than he had in a long while. "Right. I can see I don't have any choice. Well, I do, but the other choice would compromise me morally. Come with me." He grabbed both men's jackets and tugged them to their feet.

In unison, both protested "Wh-"

"TARDIS! Come on!"

~?~

Daniel stepped out of the bus, shoulders hunched against the sudden chill wind. He stepped out of the way of a woman in a pantsuit, feeling slightly awkward in a suit, as usual. If only he could avoid wearing them. But he was now a banker. And bankers couldn't wear the same ratty T-shirt to work every day.

Why the hell was he a banker anyway?

He continued walking, coming to a crosswalk. As he stepped off the sidewalk, a bulky man in a chef's outfit brushed past him, knocking against him so hard that he stumbled and fell, barely managing to catch himself from sprawling onto the curb. He steadied, stood, and turned to the person who had hit him.

"Hey, why don't you watch where you're going?!"

But the mysterious stranger was gone.

Daniel shook his head angrily and continued across the street, not realizing how much his life had just changed.

~?~

Wilson gaped in complete amazement. His mysterious acquaintance had led them to something that he had at first assumed was some obscure sort of British telephone booth. However, the interior turned out to be that of an enormous, alien spacecraft- and, if what the Doctor said was true, a timecraft as well. "A-amazing!" he gasped.

The Doctor led him inside, grinning. "Time Lord technology. It's bigger on the inside." That speech never got old.

Ten was much more cheerful now that he had an enthused human under his wing. He did have a thing about humans. When they weren't trying to kill each other, anyway. Although this _other_ human…

"Oh, come _on._ I've seen better on the SciFi channel."

Dr House leaned against the railing surrounding the central console of the TARDIS, tapping his cane against the metal grille beneath his feet and smirking.

"Have you?" Ten asked, faking nonchalance.

House grinned, not taken in by any of it. He'd admit that he'd at first thought that this man was Wilson's very _very_ secret paramour (which actually hurt his heart a little), but he was now reassured that he was just a crazy guy with a box. That was bigger on the inside. The box, not the guy. But still, duty was duty. "Yes. Yes, I have."

The Doctor gritted his teeth.

James jumped up, eager to keep his friend from getting killed. Because, no matter how safe he felt around this otherworldly man, House came first. That was just reflex now. "Um, could you explain how it, um… goes?"

"Of course!" The "thaaaank you, my brown-eyed savior" was heavily implied. Ten continued, getting back into the swing of things, "I mean, if you don't mind listening to lots of technical, ridiculously obsolete, and not to mention rather multisyllabic words, sentences, paragraphs, and perhaps even an entire thesis. Well, not a thesis. Well, maybe a thesis."

"Of course I don't!"

Behind the Doctor's swiftly turned back, House stuck his tongue out at his oncologist housemate.

You could have cut the tension with a spoon.

~?~

Below the streets of New Jersey, a dark, squishy force is growing.

A pale appendage points a colorless finger at a floury screen. In the dim lights of the room, this piece of stolen technology shows the grainy face of Daniel Remmington, opening the door to his new occupation, apprehension writ evidently on his face.

A terrible, gelatinous voice shakes the walls of the secret chamber beneath the Skyron factory in its all-consuming rage.

"_GET ME THAT MAN."_

The music gets dramatic, and then we cut to commercials.

**End Part Two of Chapter One**


	3. Part Three: Adventures Through SpaceTime

**A/N: Woo-hoo! Third chapter already! *fist pump* **

**Just a quick shout out to Jallice- thank you SO much for your warm words, you really made my day. It would be fantastic if you recommended this story. I would be forever indebted to you. *v-hug***

**Sorry it took so long. I've been way busy. Went to a wedding, state testing, etc.**

**Warnings: Insanity, slash, crossover, utter lack of any timeline whatsoever, except for the obvious. And still unbeta'd, so sorry for any mistakes I haven't noticed.**

**Disclaimer: DW belongs to BBC, House to FOX, and RemmCen to Alex. Who gave me permission, I swear.**

**Chapter One:**

**Ten meets the Blancmanges**

**In this episode we cross: Doctor Who, House MD, Monty Python, and Remmington Center**

**Part Three**

Disturbingly, the thing that bothered House most about time traveling was that it _didn't_ hurt. He was so used to things hurting him that he thought that this wouldn't be any different. But as he heard the sounds of the universe reverberate through his head, he felt _good_. Better than he had since… well, ever. Even his leg felt whole again, like the infarction had never even occurred.

He closed his eyes, a smile spreading slowly across his face as he embraced the healing powers of Time. His hand, which tended to inevitably- though unconsciously- rest on his mangled thigh, now drifted to the strange metal he leaned against, stroking it and feeling the thrum of alien engines beneath his fingers. He savored the sensations, somehow knowing in his heart that he would never have the chance to do this again.

The TARDIS landed, breaking back through the barriers of reality to return to fixed time. House opened his eyes, frowning as he felt the pain return to his leg. It seemed worse now that he had experienced life without it.

House tapped his cane in that particular way that never failed to infuriate his patients. And Cuddy. And pretty much everyone else he met. "So, where are we?"

"You mean 'when are we'."

"Shut up, Wilson."

The oncologist scowled, but when he turned to the Doctor he wore his most harmless smile. "When are we, Doctor?"

The tall humanoid shrugged happily. "I don't actually know. She tends to take me wherever I'm needed most."

Wilson frowned. "She?"

House limped up to the center of the ship and hit a terminal with his cane. It gave off a few sparks, causing the Doctor to yelp and scramble to find a fire extinguisher. Ignoring their host, House snapped, "This thing, you idiot."

Wilson gave him a confused look, not noticing that the few sparks had ignited a suspicious looking pile of documents, which were now burning merrily. "The TARDIS is alive?"

The Doctor answered this. "Yes. Well, no. Well, not exactly." He yelped as he noticed the combustion. "Oh, _no_! Going to light the whole place up like the great fires of Rome- and I've been, believe me. Wasn't pretty." He had found a large Japanese-style fan somewhere and was fanning the growing blaze with fervor, attempting to put it out but failing miserably, actually managing to make matters worse. The fire had now spread to an entire section of the TARDIS's controls. "Listen, the TARDIS is- Hard to explain- could you- ah!" His sleeve had caught fire, and the pitch of his voice was getting dangerously high. "Could you help, please?"

Wilson immediately stripped his jacket off and smothered Ten with it. When he was absolutely sure that the fire must be out, he stopped his heated beatings and released his prisoner. A plume of smoke emerged, as well as a slightly singed Time Lord. The smoke rose to the ceiling, catching the attention of an ordinary Earth smoke detector that the Doctor had forgotten that he had installed a couple of years ago, or last Tuesday. Water drenched the three figures below.

House, who had been watching this scene with amusement, stuck his tongue out to catch the drops in a moment of whimsy. Wilson put his hands above his head to protect his carefully arranged hair. The Doctor just grinned.

"I forgot that was there! A… friend of mine got me to install it. Smokey, his name was. Great bear. But the bees got him in the end. They always do"

Wilson gave up on saving his hair and let the water stream down his face. "Great. Just… great."

House shrugged gaily. "At least the fire is out."

Wilson gave him a dirty look.

~?~

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I can't help you. You need a Withdrawal Form." Daniel gave the young woman a deceptively apologetic look, noticing her upset expression as she was addressed as "ma'am" with hidden glee.

"But surely you can just withdraw fifty dollars from my account! It's for my boyfriend's birthday. Have some pity." She pouted, ruby lips shining with about eighty coats of strawberry-flavored gloss. Daniel could smell it from all the way across the teller's desk.

"Don't you watch TV, kid? Bankers are never swayed by the pity card. Besides, wouldn't your boyfriend prefer something more personal than some hockey-related knickknack or whatever other superfluous present you're planning on getting him that he'll throw away as soon as you break up? He's never going to ask you to marry him, you know," he added.

The girl looked like she was going to burst into tears. "I w-was planning on getting him a new pair of g-garden gloves." Her voice began steadily rising. "He's an- an organic farmer, and his old ones are all worn out from when he w-went to A-africa!"

Daniel fought the instinct to stick his fingers down his throat, and pretended to think about the girl's predicament for a few agonizing moments. "Well… there is one thing I could do."

She looked up, eyes swimming. "Wh-what? Anything!"

Daniel smiled. Another one for the SuperPlus Card.

Why had he ever thought that the cons of having to wash his hair and refrain from sexually harassing his coworkers would ever outweigh the pros of getting to ruin his client's lives?

It was going to be a great day.

~?~

James stuck his head out of the doors of the TARDIS and let out an amazed gasp. They were perched precariously on the side of a bottomless chasm, surrounded by enormous white birds that were making enough of a ruckus to make your ears ring.

"The wild gulls of Euphoria!" the Doctor said from behind him, shouting in order to be heard. "They snatch up unwary cliff dwellers and tear their hearts out!"

"They do _what_?"

"Quite good at backgammon, though!"

James shook his head in disbelief. This was just too crazy. He turned around and embarked into the TARDIS. The wild winds had dried his clothes, although the creases had seemingly been made permanent. Even is his tie. His favorite tie… Amber had gotten it for him…

House was sitting by the door, legs outstretched as he massaged his thigh through wet fabric.

"How was space?"

"Well, aside from the fact that I was nearly eaten by an enormous seagull, it was great!"

House chuckled. "I hadn't pegged you for a space traveler, Wilson."

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Yeah."

Ten ran inside in a panic and shut the door behind him, the caws of a million giant coastal fowl echoing off the coral-like beams of the Time Lord craft. "That was close!" he said brightly. "I suppose I probably shouldn't have tried to take one of their eggs." He turned to House in order to explain himself. "Euphorian Gull Egg Soup is a delicacy in many parts of this galaxy. Felt like trying it. Well, I suppose it wasn't meant to be." He frowned in disappointment.

House nodded like he knew what he was talking about. "Awesome. Can we go home now?"

The Doctor stared at him. "What?"

"I'm serious. Weren't you busy doing something important back in New Jersey?"

The Doctor stared at him some more, then jumped. "Oh! Oh yeah! Well… Alons-y!"

Pulling on a lever and smashing a couple of buttons, he set off to take the doctors home.

~?~

At the counter of_ Blancmanges and Other Things Bakery_, Mr. Baker packaged a few muffins into a pink cardboard box, slipping in a small stack of napkins as a courtesy. His powder-white hair, skin, and even eyes tended to unnerve his customers- until they tasted his wares.

After that, they never looked twice at his strange appearance. Nor thought to look behind the counter, or in the back of the shop. They never even noticed as their hair got redder and thicker, and their voices stranger and deeper. Not even when all their clothes suddenly became plaid. And by the time the bagpipes appeared, they were already marching.

Mr. Baker chuckled serenely to himself, and practiced his backhand casually behind the glass case full of his siblings.

Oh, Mother was going to be so proud!

~?~

James walked down the alley a ways, legs feeling shaky after his bumpy ride in the TARDIS. House limped after him.

"So, Wilson. I've got a case I want to talk to you about-"

Wilson turned around. "House, how can you just act like nothing has happened? We just travelled through space! With an- an alien! And you want to talk about your case?"

"Yes. Is that so strange?" He gave his friend an antagonistic look.

"Well, not if you're in denial." Wilson replied, scrunching up his eyebrows. "Is this about Cuddy?"

"Why would this be about _Cuddy_?"

"We don't have time for this arguing! Let's go!" The Doctor sprinted past the two of them, his coat flying back in the air currents he was creating.

House and Wilson stared after him.

"Well…" House said finally. "I guess that settles it."

They followed the mad alien in his quest to save the world from baked goods.

~?~

Mr. Piekarz pushed his way through the revolving doors of the bank, scanning the room for his prey. After an awkward moment in which he had to step aside for a vapidly smiling young girl with mascara steaks down her cheeks and a shiny new credit card in her hand, he spotted him; he was leaning back in his chair in a manner too casual for a bank employee, smiling as he picked at his cuticles aimlessly. Mr. Piekarz found his way to his quarry's desk.

"Excuse me," he said, in a voice that somehow sounded like it was wading through a dish of tiramisu, "But would you be Mister Remmington?"

"Yeah. I mean, yes, that's me." Daniel looked up into Mr. Piekarz's colorless eyes. "Hey! You're the guy who knocked me over this morning! I hope you're here to apologize."

Mr. Piekarz smiled, teeth shining. "I'm afraid not. I'm actually here to take you prisoner."

Daniel's false grin remained frozen on his face as he processed Mr. Piekarz's words.  
"I'm sorry?"

Mr. Pierkarz slid a tiny metal disc across the table. A tiny light blipped to life. A countdown.

"It's a memory erasing drug. In thirty seconds, no one in this room will remember that I was ever here. All they'll remember is you getting out of your seat and leaving the bank…"

Daniel stared at him, not getting the message. Mr. Pierkarz pulled out a gun, which managed to do the job.

Daniel stood up with a jerk. The teller across the way from him noticed and yelped as she saw the gun. She scrambled to press the police call button underneath her desk, but her fingers searched to no avail. Daniel pushed his way past a few customers and out the door just as the counter reached zero. He turned around to see every person within the building slump into unconsciousness. He tried to run back in, but Mr. Pierkarz grabbed him by the hair and thrust his gun against his back.

"Come with me, Mister Remmington."

Daniel closed his eyes and nodded, trying not to let the fear show on his face.

**TBC…**


	4. Part Four: Taking a Turn for the Worse

**A/N: OH YEAH, finally got a beta. Alex, the admirable **sekoia** on LJ (**Arimaz** on devART), has agreed to look over my work (OR MAYBE ONE DAY, ANYWAY). It's probably cos of the RemmCen bits. **_**Yeah**_**, skip to the Daiquiri parts, you jerk. There is plot here, you know. Except maybe not.  
**

**Warnings: Insanity, slash, crossover, utter lack of any timeline whatsoever, except for the obvious. **

**Disclaimer: DW belongs to BBC, House to FOX, and RemmCen to Alex. **

**Chapter One:**

**Ten meets the Blancmanges**

**In this episode we cross: Doctor Who, House MD, Monty Python, and Remmington Center**

**Part Four**

Daniel blinked his eyes open, feeling dizzy and slightly nauseated. After a moment of disorientation, his environment solidified into a room with dark walls, shadows in every corner, and a solitary light bulb hanging from the ceiling that just seemed to make everything darker in comparison to its tiny sphere of illumination.  
All this would have been disturbing enough (Jacques must be rubbing off on him if he was getting annoyed by bad interior decoration... Heh. Rubbing off on him... Hadn't he made that joke before? Whoah, déjà vu moment) without the added inconvenience of being tied to a plastic deck chair with silver duct tape. Daniel felt a cold sweat break out on his forehead and down his back. He had certain... issues with being restrained. Finding his mouth unbound, he took deep breaths of stale, metallic air and counted to ten out loud to steady his nerves, admitting to himself that his Jacques-arranged therapy had its uses after all.  
"One,"  
He attempted to wriggle out of his bounds, but whoever had done this definitely knew how to duct tape someone to a chair because the best that he could do was scuff the floor a little.  
"Four,"  
What would happen if he was killed? Would anyone ever figure out what had happened? He thought about Lily, Bonnie, and Riv, and he wondered whether they would come to his funeral. In a moment of weakness, he thought about Jacques. To his reluctance, he found that he missed the stupid queer.  
"Seven,"  
He missed his food and his obsession with cleaning. He missed his twinkling blue eyes and soft hair that made him look like a girl. He missed tormenting him for getting scared of bees and bulldozers. He even missed the way Jacques sometimes would lean across the couch when they were watching some dumb action movie and, upon the pretext of shielding his eyes from some of the nastier bits, would start kissing his way around Daniel's neck, languorously and with lots of tongue, until Daniel was forced to turn his attention away from the TV and engage his mouth with the other man's.  
"Ten."  
Behind him, a door opened and a figure stepped inside the room.  
Daniel stared at the light bulb above him, eyes watering. "What do you want?" he croaked out, trying to overcome his fear.  
A syrupy, British accented voice answered him. "Just your mind. You see, we accidentally uploaded some important data into your brain, and the only way to get it back is to harvest your cerebrum. Sorry for the inconvenience."  
Something started to buzz, like a drill or electric saw. Daniel closed his eyes.

~?~

Ten sprinted down the pavement, ignoring the weird looks he got from strangers. He held out his Sonic, listening for the signal of a hyperspace communicator. He tracked it down the main street for a little while, but then it made a sharp turn onto a side street. After following that for another minute or so, he found himself nearing an industrial zone.  
He stopped running. Panting and rubbing his eyes, he squinted at the name emblazoned on the side on the nearest warehouse.  
"Skyron Enterprises," he read. "Bingo."  
He turned around to tell James and his grumpy friend the good news. To his surprise, they were still at least a block away. Great. He was stuck with a couple of slowpokes. "Someone's life could be at stake, you know!" he shouted at them, irritated at their laziness.  
James waved.

~?~

"What do you mean, _gone_?"

Jacques frowned and wiped his hands on his apron, cleaning them enough to grab the phone from between his right ear and shoulder. He spoke with an edge, having a slight aversion to speaking over the telephone. As a matter of fact, he had a slight aversion to speaking in person as well. But that wasn't important.

"He can't just be gone! No, he hasn't contacted me- Yes, I'm his, um, roommate. No, he hasn't got any family in the area. I guess he could be at Bonnie's. Just a friend of ours. We used to work together. No! Yes, I'll call her. I just don't understand why he would leave in the middle of the workday. I mean, he likes to break the rules and all, but in a really quite harmless way. Like, sleeping on the job? No, not anymore. No, I would know about it. Alright. Please call me if he comes back."  
He hung up and cast a worried look at the phone. He tried to call Daniel, but all he got was voice mail.  
_"Stop calling me, Jacques. You know I never listen to these."  
_"Um, Daniel? _Bonjour_, it's me. Just... wondering where you've gone off to... Please call me back."  
Then he dialed Bonnie's cell.  
"Bonnie? Hey, it's Jacqui. No, I'm fine. Well- no, I'm not. Daniel's gone missing. I don't suppose you know where he is? He's not answering his phone. No? What? No, I can't come over right now. Alright, sorry to bother you. Thanks, I hope so. Yeah, I will. _Tag_."  
He hung up again, and buried his head in his hands.

~?~

Daniel wasn't sure why his head wasn't split open like a watermelon with aspirations of flight right at that moment, but whatever the reason was, he was grateful for it.  
He tried to see over his own shoulder, but it only served to hurt his eyes.  
The villain behind him seemed to be saying something, possibly into a walkie-talkie, but it was too thickly pronounced for Daniel to understand it. So he just waited for something to happen, heart hammering so loud that it hurt.

~?~

One doctor caught up to the other Doctor, slowly so House could catch up as well. They were both out of breath.  
"Now that we're all here..." The Doctor folded his arms and aimed a pointed look in House's direction. House sneakily flipped him the bird. "_Now_ we can act."  
He swung a leg over the low sign that bore the logos of all the companies that leased the industrial space they had found themselves in and headed towards the Skyron factory. Wilson stayed back with House as he limped to follow.  
"The guy's a jerk." House said as they walked.  
Wilson shook his head. "He's the best guy I've ever met."  
"Then why did he glare at me for being a cripple? You have to admit that that's not very nice."  
"He's... He's on a tight schedule. You're slowing him down."  
House rolled his eyes, exasperated at Wilson's thick headedness. "Seriously? A _tight schedule_? What're you, in love with the guy?"  
Blushing, Wilson put a hand on his hip and stopped walking. "House, don't be a brat."  
"I'm rubber, you're glue!"  
"House."  
"Come on, Wilson. I thought we were on a tight schedule." The diagnostician stopped walking too and leaned on his cane. "Or was my guess too close to the truth?"

Wilson was about to answer when suddenly-

"JAAAMES!" The Doctor yelped from around the corner of the factory.  
Wilson reacted without thinking. He ran to where the Doctor's voice had come from, leaving House behind. He got to the Time Lord just in time to see the tips of his red sneakers disappear into the tiny doorway of a large white UFO.  
Then he was alone.

~?~

House sat on the wall, rubbing his aching leg. Walking this briskly had sent it into a cruel spiral of agony.  
"Man..."  
As usual, it was all Wilson's fault. If he hadn't struck up this unlikely alliance with this alien chap, then House would be at Princeton Plainsborough right now eating a panini, instead of outside an abandoned factory watching his best friend desert him for another man. So to speak. Still, no point crying over spilled Wilson. House took out his Tylenol and settled for less.

Wilson came trudging back towards him.

House frowned. "Where's the alien?"

Wilson wouldn't meet his eyes. He shook his head slowly. "He's… he's gone."

_Oh… snap_.

**TBC... ^^**


	5. Part Five: The Plans of Pastries

**A/N: I've only been able to write from my iPod lately, so there might be more mistakes in this chapter. However, it's nice and long this time! *dances* Plus, a wild Cody appeared! Go Pokeball!**

**Warnings: Insanity, slash, crossover, utter lack of any timeline whatsoever, except for the obvious. **

**Disclaimer: DW belongs to BBC, House to FOX, and RemmCen to Alex. **

**Chapter One:**

**Ten meets the Blancmanges**

**In this episode we cross: Doctor Who, House MD, Monty Python, and Remmington Center**

**Part Five**

Jacques pulled open the door to Bonnie's house and was at once assaulted by the sticky-sweet smell of warm pastries. He smiled, anticipating one of the former maid's now-famous apple pies. Indeed, he walked into Bonnie's kitchen to see her, with her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail and an apron tied around her slim waist, pulling a dish from the hot oven to set on the counter to cool.  
She shrieked and nearly dropped the pie when Jacques cleared his throat.  
"OMG!"  
Then she noticed the identity of her mysterious visitor and relaxed, a smile s[rading over her pretty face. "Oh, it's you. How did you get inside? You scared me half to death!"  
Jacques shrugged. "You gave me a key."  
"Oh yeah, huh?" she giggled.  
Jacques waited until Bonnie had washed her hands and taken off her apron until he spoke.  
"Bonnie, Daniel still hasn't come back."  
She shook her head. "He'll turn up. I mean, we thought he was dead once, didn't we? And he came back then."  
Jacques shot her a pained look. "After _eight years_."  
Bonnie patted his arm. "Sorry; it's just that, well, you know. Maybe you should calm down."  
If there was one thing that never failed to wind Jacques up, it was telling him to calm down. "Oh my _Gott_, Bonnie! After what I went through, what we _all_ went through, you want me to just _assume_ that everything is okay?"  
Bonnie frowned at his raised voice.  
"You're scaring the cats."  
Jacques slumped. "I'm just... really worried."  
Bonnie wrapped an arm around her friend. "Oh, honey, I'm sorry..."  
Javques melted into her warm hug, breathing in the scent of her flowery perfume mixed with the lingering aromas of butter and cinnamon.  
Bonnie sensed his distress and decided to go out on a limb. "Well... There _might_ be something we can do..."  
Jacques looked up, hope lighting up his face. "Anything! Please!"  
"Do you remember that Cody Taylor character?"

~?~

Charlie Taylor had, by three different psychiatrists, been diagnosed with mild schizophrenia and slightly acute pyromania. He'd been to jail once, and hadn't particularly liked it. However, he was now living the high life that befitted the fiancée of a world-famous photographer.  
He sipped a beer and gave his visitor a long, searching look.  
"Blancmanges."  
The rumpled man with the thick eyebrows nodded understandingly. "I know, it sounds crazy, but it's true. And when House saw your name on the internet, and you were in the area, we just _had_ to try."  
It was true. Charlie was an unofficial Paranormal Investigator. Since he had started to take his medication, he had needed a hobby to replace his previous one of setting straw effigies of Bush the younger on fire and then burying them under his sacrificial altar to Hephaestus.  
In hindsight, he was _really_ glad that Aiesha had had the sense to sneak him those first few pills.  
Anyway, he had made a special effort to investigate the so-called ScotPhenom. The rate in which people were spontaneously becoming Scotsmen had gone up from about two or three per year to twenty in the last month. Worrying statistics, indeed.  
The two doctors had called on him when he had been in the midst of playing tennis, but he had stopped to see them anyway. Unfortunately, it had been a waste of time and his sneakers were making his feet hot.  
"We had this friend, and he knew something about them. He was going to investigate the Skyron Enterprises factory when they took him." Seeing that Charlie was unconvinced, Wilson added: "I saw it! With my own eyes. I swear, it was a UFO."  
Charlie sat up straighter. He liked UFOs, UFOs were good. "Where was this?"  
"Outside the Skyron factory, I told you. Now are you going to help or not?"  
But Charlie was no longer listening. He had pulled a tiny laptop from out of nowhere and was busy searching for security camera footage from the Skyron plant.  
The interesting thing about computers these days, he ruminated, was that you could be a total idiot, as he was, and still be able to do pretty much anything on them.  
"Aha!"  
A few hours earlier, there had been a glitch in the tape from the building's perimeter for a full two minutes. When the video snapped back, the same man who at that moment was staring at him with a slightly harangued expression on his face was standing there, hands over his mouth in shock. And he hadn't been there before the skip.  
"We're in business, Dr Wilson."  
Wilson sighed in relief. "_Thank_ you, Mr Taylor."  
As Charlie opened his mouth to answer, a tall black woman in a large yellow shirt and matching wide-brimmed hat burst into the room.  
"Charlie, you will not _believe_ who's here!"

~?~

Daniel woke with a start at the sound of his cell door creaking open and a fellow prisoner being coerced inside. He was, unfortunately, another Britisher. Daniel had never really liked the English. He must have come from a line directly descended from one of the founding fathers. He always imagined it was John Hancock. For various reasons.  
"Now that's just _cruel_! All I asked was for you to leave and never return! Is that too much to ask? I _like_ this planet! I mean, I'm not usually too big on a world that thinks it's unique in the universe, but I really do like this one. Couldn't you just-"  
The door slammed shut.  
The new arrival apparently had no knowledge of Daniel's presence in the cell, for he almost immediately sat on him.  
"Christ on a cracker, get off!"  
The man jumped up and spun round. In the dim light from the cell window, Daniel could see the broad, idiotic grin he bore on his face underneath a plume of gravity defying hair. Daniel found himself wondering how much product he used. "Why _he_llo!"  
"What're _you_ so delighted about?"  
The man shrugged in an expansive gesture, eyebrows crinkling. "I get lonely..."  
Daniel rolled his eyes and tried to fall asleep again. He had no such luck; his fellow prisoner began babbling about baked goods, alien abduction, and Serena Williams, barely stopping to breathe or even to make sure his new friend was paying attention to his excessive garrulousness. Daniel gave up on ever sleeping again at the Serena Williams bit. Instead, he tried to concentrate on _not_ bludgeoning the man as hard as humanly possible with whatever blunt instrument happened to be handy. Which was, honestly, the roll of toilet paper next to the surprisingly clean latrine, but whatever.

~?~

James was surprised to recognize the new arrival as Aiesha Lawrence, the photographer whose pictures of "Daily Life in the Center" had earned her national recognition for skill and emotional insight. He hadn't realized that this Charlie was the same Cody Taylor from the tabloids.

Not that he read those trashy things; he had seen headlines.  
"I'm sorry, sugar." Charlie smiled apologetically. "Client."  
Miss Lawrence shook her head excitedly. "This is more important- it's Jacqui!"  
Charlie didn't seem to comprehend.  
"You remember, the butler from the Center!"  
"But what's he doing here? We haven't talked in ages."  
"I don't know, he won't say." Aiesha looked a little manic in her joy.  
"Well, send him in then!"  
An imposingly sized blond knocked timidly on the open door. "Um, hi. Remember me?" He had big, scared blue eyes and a double piercing in his left ear. James thought he looked vaguely familiar.  
Charlie grinned. "Of course, dude! Come on in! What's happening?"  
Jacqui sat in the chair beside James. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."  
Charlie shook his head.  
Jacqui smiled in thanks, then continued. "Well... It's kind of hard to explain, but... Daniel's gone missing. And everything is really suspicious about it... I didn't know who else to ask."  
Charlie tilted his spiky ginger head. "Daniel... So you two are, like, together now?"  
Jacqui blushed deeply. "You could say that, I guess."  
James raised his eyebrows slightly, but didn't say anything. After all, it was none of his business.  
"Well what am I supposed to do about it?"  
Jacqui looked embarrassed. "I..."  
Charlie shook his head fondly. "Well, where was he last seen?"  
"At work- Metro Bank on Grand."  
Charlie returned his attention to his computer. As his attentions were engaged, James gave Jacqui a tentative smile. The other man flushed again. "Sorry..." he muttered. James shook his head to indicate that it wasn't a problem.  
Where had he seen this kid before?  
Charlie double-clicked something and a page printed out behind him. He grabbed it and handed it to his skittish visitor. Jacqui nodded and pointed to a blurry figure on the page.  
"This is him."  
Daniel was, apparently, a dark man whose beard reminded James somewhat of House. He was sitting at a table and talking to a man dressed in white.  
"The second after this footage was taken, something blocked the transmission. When the cameras came back online, Daniel was gone."  
"Just like at the Skyron factory!" James burst out.  
Charlie blinked. "Oh- I hadn't thought of that."  
"Do you think they're connected somehow?"  
"It's a small world; I wouldn't be surprised." Cody took the paper back and scrutinized the image. "Blancmanges, you said?"  
"I don't see what that has to do with anything, but yes."  
Charlie looked uncertain. "Well... No, it's probably nothing."  
A new voice entered the fray.  
"_Nothing_ is insignificant. The tiniest detail could be of vital importance to the success of your venture."  
House limped in, nodding to Aiesha, who still stood, bemused, in the doorway.  
"Sorry it took so long. You had an Us Weekly by the toilet."  
House didn't read tabloids either.  
Then again, everybody lies.  
Wilson smiled at seeing his friend. "Well, at least the first part was eloquent."  
House rapped Wilson's knee with his cane. "Hey. Only human here, Mister Fancypants Oncologist." Wilson rolled his eyes.  
House turned to face Jacqui and stuck out a hand. "Hiya! Greg House, head diagnostician at Princeton Plainsborough Teaching Hospital. I don't believe we've met."  
Then Jacqui said something surprising. "Actually, Dr House, we have. It was a few years ago; I was taking my _Mutti_ to get some chemo from Dr Wilson, and you tried to get me to fetch you coffee. But I suppose I never introduced myself, so... My name's Jacques-"  
Wilson interrupted him. "Oh! You're Ms Ferdinand's son! I'm sorry I didn't recognize you sooner. Your mother spent a lot of time with me. You remember her, House?"  
"Sure I do. The Nazi lady."  
Jacqui burst out indignantly: "She wasn't a Nazi!"  
Wilson scowled at House, who shrugged. "She had a strong accent and didn't treat you with respect. In this country, that made her a Nazi."  
"House!"  
Jacques shook his head. "It's fine. I guess she was a little strict."  
"Well, we're _both_ very sorry that she passed."  
Before House could mutter that he jolly well _wasn't_ sorry because she had been a stubborn, cancerous Republican, Charlie slammed his hands on the desk and yelled out: "People! Focus!"  
The three men straightened. House sat in the chair on Wilson's other side and leaned his cane against the armrest sullenly.  
Charlie returned to business. "You see the man he's talking to? What does he look like?"  
All occupants of the room stared intently at the print.  
It was Aiesha who figured it out. "Oh my God- he's a baker, isn't he?"  
Charlie nodded. "An evil, alien baker. And what's more, I know what he- or they; it's more than possible he isn't alone- want."  
Aiesha rushed past the visitors and leaned on the desk, nose to nose with her fiance. "What?" she whispered dramatically.  
Charlie took a steadying breath.  
"They mean," he said, "to win Wimbleton."

**TBC… OH THE DRAMA.**


	6. Part Six: Evaluation and Exasperation

**A/N: This chapter has been a long time coming, I'll admit, but I think it was worth it for… FAKEY SCIENCE AND FAILED KNOWLEDGE OF TENNIS AND/OR BAKING! The "**_**Flan**_**" line stolen without shame from **vicodin-vixen**'s hilarious House fic "Communication Skills" (check out their Hilson. It wins.)**

**Warnings: Insanity, slash, crossover, utter lack of any timeline whatsoever, except for the obvious. **

**Disclaimer: DW belongs to BBC, House to FOX, and RemmCen to Alex. **

**Chapter One:**

**Ten meets the Blancmanges**

**In this episode we cross: Doctor Who, House MD, Monty Python, and Remmington Center**

**Part Six**

The Skyron Pastries factory was placed among those of an American-created, Chinese-seized toy conglomerate, a manufacturer of used clothing, and a company that made those little plastic things you put birthday candles in then, once the cake's been eaten, either throw away or put in a drawer and quickly forget about, leaving them to be used as hats by fairies.

On a completely unrelated note, the origins of the tradition of putting candles on birthday cake can be traced back to the ancient Greeks, who would light candles around their special-event food in order to please the gods, as well as the not-quite-as-ancient Germans, who just flat out liked burning things. In all probability, this could also be the origin of the Bundt cake.

But it was sometime in 2010 suburban America when Doctor James Wilson led his best friend, the son of an ex-patient (the prefix "ex-" is used here both in the sense of "no longer receiving treatment from PPTH" and in the sense of "gone to meet its maker; this is an ex-patient"), a mentally unsound UFO enthusiast, and a moderately famous photographer to that pastry factory we mentioned earlier in order to rescue a bearded nuisance and an alien with a shiny blue screwdriver.

Wilson was starting to think that he should get himself a therapist when all this was over.

~?~

"So, where did the Doctor disappear?" Charlie ran his metal detector along the scrub-covered ground before him and adjusted his large night-vision goggles with attached radio antennae and earpieces.

"Just back here," Wilson called from around a corner.

Charlie followed his voice, leaving the three other members of the expedition standing awkwardly in an open area, shivering in the chill breeze. Aiesha turned up the collar of her bright pink rain slicker and pulled her checkered baseball cap even lower over her eyes.

House rubbed his leg absently and popped a couple Tylenol, feeling a terrible sense of déjà vu. He was determined not to glance in the direction of the young pastry chef, who seemed dogged to meet his gaze. After the initial shock of the doctor's arrival, Jacques had seemed to reach the hypothesis that House was his Daniel from the future in some manner of speaking, as well as come to the highly erroneous conclusion that he and Wilson were having sex.

"Doctor House?"

Whichever one of House's nerves it was that Jacques had been mincing about on for the past hour, it was becoming dangerously frayed.

"What."

Jacqui failed to notice the way House was gripping his cane in a dangerously tight fashion, though if he had he probably would have insinuated that it was symbolic for something other than his own neck. So, thinking that House was merely _sexually_ frustrated rather than _actually_ frustrated (and really, _really_ annoyed), he continued to speak. "If you don't mind me asking-" House did, but obviously Jacques was being rhetorical and didn't pause for the old man to say so, "-how did you and Doctor Wilson meet?"

House rolled his eyes. "Well, he was working as an exotic dancer and I was a frequent client. Eventually we eloped to Sweden, where we both got our medical degrees."

Jacques' eyes sparkled. House had to surreptitiously check for fairy lights in the general vicinity.

"How romantic!"

House was slightly stunned. This kid... was a true idiot.

Jacques went on, unaware that he was nearly glowing with The Power of Gay: "Daniel was my boss at this, this sort of apartment thing, where I worked as a butler? We hooked up there, Daniel faked his own death, and eight years later he returned and we've been together-ish ever since!"

House wondered whether he was on some insane painkiller trip, but decided against it. The kid's story was literally so ridiculous that it had to be true.

Unless he had a brain tumor.

Failure, he mused, was always an option.

~?~

Charlie waved for Wilson to _come over here_.

"Did you find something?"

Rather than answering in words, Charlie showed him. A solitary red sneaker, or trainer, if you prefer, lay half-hidden in a patch of dead grass and dandelions.

"Yeah, this is... This is his." Wilson picked it up and examined it for any possible clues as to what might have stolen its owner. "Charlie, what's this?" There was a smear of something white and sticky on the toe of the sneaker.

The ginger swiped the substance onto a cotton swab and dropped it into a plastic bag.

"I'll have to analyze this at the lab."

The two investigators returned to their fellows. House called for a return to the van (the unmarked, white van, by the way) with due haste; it was getting freezing.

~?~

The "lab" turned out to be, much to everyone's well-hidden surprise, an actual laboratory, located in a multistory building home to several scientifically oriented offices. Charlie waved a badge at the security guard at the desk and she let them in with only a glance up from her brown paper-backed lesbian romance novel. All five of them then crammed into a small elevator and suffered through muzak up to the fourth floor. That atmosphere, combined with the fact that Aiesha's huge bag took up so much space (seriously, hwat did she have in there? A small house?) that House was forced to press up to Wilson, back-to-front, causing Jacqui to shoot Frenchy smirks in his direction, made the ride pretty much unendurable.

But eventually _ding_ went the doors and the lot of them spilled into the hallway wearing various expressions of relief.

Charlie ducked his head through an open door, looked to see if the room it revealed was occupied, and, seeing it wasn't, led the band within. Inside was a wide array of microscopes, computers, and test tubes that boggled the mind in their sheer scientificness.

Charlie pulled the baggie containing the stuff from the scene of the abduction from his pocket and pulled his sidekick (that is: Wilson, reduced to his standard position) to a table in the corner.

"We're going to do a chemical analysis."

Wilson glanced at House, who mouthed an incredulous _"we?"_ at him, clearly under the impression that Charlie was absolutely bonkers.

Which he really was, but Wilson had no way of knowing that.

The enthusiastic quasi-scientist swept the swab onto a glass slide, leaving a blob of the thick white cream behind. He then stuck the slide under what appeared to be a combination of a powerful microscope and an ATM and tapped the screen. The machine buzzed to life, scanning the sample and sending streams of data across the screen. The data quickly condensed itself into a few lines.

Charlie peered at them, frowning. "Milk... sugar... almond extract... salt… What?"

Wilson read over his shoulder. "It looks like the recipe for _flan_."

House limped over. "Flan?"

"_Flan_," Wilson corrected.

"The man in the CCTV footage did look like a baker, remember?" supplied Alicia.

Charlie grinned proudly. "He sure did, baby." He squeezed her hand.

Jacques hung back, feeling left out. House had Wilson and Alicia had Cody- that is, Charlie- but Jacques didn't have anyone. Although even if Daniel _had_ been there he wouldn't have been much help. Jacques sighed. His life was slightly screwed up, wasn't it?

"So," Charlie was saying, having rallied the other three into a huddle. "Tennis playing bakers who specialize in flan-"

"_Flan_. And I didn't say it _was_ _flan_, I said it _might be flan. _In fact, it's probably blancmange- doesn't anyone remember what the Doctor said?_"_

"Whatever, Jim."

Wilson gritted his teeth.

"Bakers who specialize in _flaaaan_," (this was said with a pointed look at the oncologist, who sighed,) "turning an alarming amount of people into Scotsmen."

Alicia frowned. "But why?"

Charlie held up a finger. "Scotland," he elucidated, "is notorious for turning out bad tennis players."

"Is that a real statistic?" asked House snidely, "Or are you making it up?"

"That isn't important! The important thing is that, by turning the population of Earth into Scotsmen, these extraterrestrial chefs will be a shoe-in to win the Wimbleton Championship!"

There was much shocked gasping and throes of agony until every sane person in the room remembered that they didn't actually care about tennis.

~?~

"I don't actually care about tennis, you do know that, right?"

Daniel struggled against his bonds, staring fearfully at the large white gelatin mold before him who somehow was holding a large electric chainsaw. He was back in the interrogation room, but this time he could see. It wasn't a huge improvement.

"YOU WILL REVEAL THE SACRED WORDS OF TENNIS FOR DUMMIES," it ordered through a slit in its side that was obviously intended to be some sort of mouth, judging by the rows of gnashing, shark-like teeth.

Daniel would have thrown his hands in the air, had they not been firmly attached to the chair. "I hate tennis! I've never in my life read _Tennis for Dummies_!" And he meant it to sting.

"BUT IT IS IN YOUR MIND." The strange pastry-creature wobbled forward menacingly and brandished its power tool.

Daniel squirmed. "No. No, it isn't!"

It really wasn't.

The chainsaw turned on again.

"Jesus Christ! Oka- okay, I'll reveal the sacred words!"

The saw turned off.

"Um… Special shoes… Catgut… Backhand… Serena Williams… Fourteen-love?" This was, quite literally, all Daniel knew about tennis.

After a moment of stunned silence, Daniel's captor roared in anger. "YOU LIE. YOU CANNOT ACCESS THE SACRED TEXT. IT IS LOCKED IN YOUR MIND."

_Vvvvvvvvrrrrrrrrccccck!_

Daniel yelped. "W-what's the chainsaw for, man? You can't do complicated brain surgery with that thing!"

"WE NEED NOT PREFORM SURGERY. ALL WE NEED IS THE HEAD."

Daniel swore.

All seemed lost.

The chainsaw swung back to strike…

Then Daniel recalled that he actually had some sort of ally who had said something about rescuing him earlier.

"Doctor! Doctor! I need some help here!" he shouted, as a last resort before getting decapitated.

The door burst open and a tall biped ran inside, brandishing a fork and knife.

"Back off, Skyronite!"

The gelatinous thing seized backward at the sight of the kitchen utensils. In its distress, the chainsaw slipped from its slimy hands and cut through its side, splattering the walls with chunks of white flesh and causing it to let out a deathly howl that trailed off into a gurgle as it collapsed into itself like… well, like a blancmange. Daniel cringed.

The Doctor whipped out a silver stick and pressed a button on the side, causing the top to glow blue and Daniel's bonds to suddenly loosen. He jumped up automatically, still staring at the remains of the… Skyronite.

"Are you alright, Daniel?" asked the Doctor, not sounding overly concerned.

"Uh… yeah."

"Good. Let's get out of here."

The he dragged him out the door.

~?~

**BONUS! Make Your Own Evil Blancmanges and Take Over the Tennis Community!**

2 envelopes unflavored gelatin  
4 1/2 cups 1% low-fat milk, divided  
1 1/3 cups sliced almonds, toasted  
1/2 cup sugar  
1/4 teaspoon salt  
1/4 teaspoon almond extract  
8 ounces frozen fat-free whipped topping, thawed  
Cooking spray

Sprinkle gelatin over 1/2 cup milk in a small bowl; set aside.  
Place 4 cups milk and almonds in a blender, and process until smooth. Strain through a sieve into a medium saucepan; discard solids. Stir in sugar, salt, and extract, and bring to a boil. Add the gelatin mixture, stirring until gelatin dissolves; remove from heat.

Place pan in a large ice-filled bowl for 30 minutes or until milk mixture comes to room temperature; stir occasionally. Gently stir one-fourth of whipped topping into milk mixture; gently fold in remaining topping.

Spoon 2/3 cup milk mixture into each of 9 (6-ounce) custard cups coated with cooking spray. Cover and chill at least 4 hours or overnight. Loosen edges of blancmange with a knife or rubber spatula. Place a dessert plate upside down on top of each cup, and invert onto plates.

Yield: 9 soldiers

**HAVE FUN, KIDS!**


End file.
